


wrap me in finest silk

by InsolitaParvaPuella



Series: Kinktober 2019 [20]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Clothed Sex, F/M, Grinding, Kinktober 2019, Married Couple, Married Sex, Post-Canon, Silk - Freeform, Stockings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsolitaParvaPuella/pseuds/InsolitaParvaPuella
Summary: Ashe takes some time to admire Marianne in her finery.





	wrap me in finest silk

**Author's Note:**

> i just love ashe, sorry.
> 
> day 20 pairing: ashe/marianne  
day 20 kink?: silk/satin/lace (is there a word for this? or is it just "nice fabric fetish"?)

Ashe would have sworn it started innocently enough. Or, well, _nearly_. It was just a fascination with the fabrics nobles wore; soft and shimmery silks and satins, heavy plush velvets, and the delicate appearance of lace. The Ethereal Moon Ball had spurred that interest to new heights when he could see his peers (all already shockingly beautiful people) clothed in exquisite fabrics. He’d been given formalwear for the event as well, but he’d felt plain and ordinary next to them.

A few nights after the ball Ashe pleasured himself, hoping the force of orgasm would let him sleep. His mind rushed with memories of the ball. Dimitri’s hands in white silk gloves, the heavy velvet cloak resting on Claude’s shoulder, Ingrid’s slender waist encircled with a pale blue satin sash. And Marianne’s delicate throat, wrapped in ivory lace—!

And years later, the same fascination threatened to take Ashe’s breath away again. The grey silk duvet was a _very _expensive wedding gift from Lord Edmund to go with the more practical ones, and it had arrived at last. One of the servants had dressed the comforter with it during the day. Ashe entered the bedroom that evening to see his wife in a blue satin dress, hitching up her dress to expose white silk stockings on her dainty feet. The sight caught him off guard and he had to grip the doorframe to keep himself steady.

“Ashe,” Marianne said, her exquisite little smile like starlight, “I hadn’t seen you today. How were things?” She leaned down and began to roll a stocking down her leg. 

“Go slowly,” he burst out, unthinking, “with your stockings, I mean.” He turned a dark red as soon as he realised what he had said, but Marianne looked at him for a moment, then went back to her stockings, rolling them down with agonising slowness. With every turn of the silk, smooth and shimmering on her legs, revealed more tantalising skin. 

When she reached reached her heel she pointed her toes and gently tugged the stocking off. It slipped off with a whisper and Ashe wanted to take off the other one so badly. Marianne looked to him again, her cheeks pink but her smile confident.

"Would you help me with the other one?" she asked, raising her leg and pointing her toes again, as if Ashe wasn't already openly staring at her legs. He walked and fell to his knees at her feet, sliding his hands up her leg. With careful, dexterous fingers he began rolling the stocking down her leg. The silk was smooth and strong, and Ashe's hands tingled at the feel of the fabric under his hands. This near he could see the fine hairs on her legs and take in every detail of his beloved. 

With a soft tug, the stocking came off and Ashe pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot. He could see her muscles unwind at that touch.

“Ashe,” she said, and one of her hands pressed to his cheek and guided his vision up to her face. “Come here.” This was a request he would gladly fulfil, rising to one knee, his hands settling onto the bed on either side of her hips, tilting his face up to her. Marianne closed the distant and Ashe felt something in him settle. This was bliss. Marianne’s legs went around him, her hands pressed softly to his cheeks, and he was engulfed in a cloud of blue satin. He followed her from soft, tender kisses into something deeper and hotter. 

At the feeling of her tongue slipping between his lips, Ashe brought his hands to Marianne’s waist and rose to his feet, pushing her back onto the bed. He planted one knee between her legs, the other supporting him on the floor. Marianne’s hands slipped from his face to his shoulders and, and—

_She was grinding against his knee!_ The most humiliating squeak escaped Ashe at the discovery. Marianne had hardly been the shrinking violet in their marriage bed, but she had never done something like this. If he didn’t kiss her immediately he was certain he would die of asphyxiation, knocked breathless by her. When his lips pressed firmly to hers he could finally catch her breath in his lungs.

Marianne’s hips ground and twisted against him and he pushed his knee against her heat, trembling at the sound of her moans. 

“Please, Ashe. I need you,” said Marianne, and Ashe might have been undone by that if his endurance was any less. He pulled back and undid his trousers, kicking them off. Marianne’s smallclothes joined them on the floor, and then he was leaning over her, falling into a cloud of blue satin and admiring how pretty his wife looked on the pale grey silk. She looked like a jewel, wrapped in fine fabrics to enhance her beauty.

Clumsily, Ashe hoisted up Marianne’s hips and her legs went around his hips as he slid inside her in short thrusts. Marianne’s moans were silver-sharp and bright. Her hands dug into the blanket and skirts that fell around her waist. She was rumped and rosy and lovely, enrobed in soft fabric like a treasure. The sight of her still in her dress set Ashe’s blood aflame, and perhaps he could blame that for the driving rhythm of his hips. 

Marianne came and her keening orgasmic cry set Ashe over the edge. He slammed their bodies together at their meeting point, gasping at the strength of his climax. It was too much to bear. He pulled out and dropped Marianne’s hips and flopped onto the bed next to her. _This_ had to be bliss. There was Marianne’s gentle fingers brushing his hair from his face, the cool silk against his cheek, and the afterglow of lovemaking flowing through his veins. He cracked a smile and opened his eyes, meeting his wife’s gaze.

“That dress looks lovely on you,” he said.


End file.
